How to save a life
by Crazy.rabbit2
Summary: Alfred has been sick all his life. Everyone knows he's going to die young. Arthur seems to be the only one who can't accept that- he'll do anything to keep his friend alive. Even if it means selling his soul to a perverted demon.


**_(A/N; So I wrote this a while ago, and forgot about it.. oops.. I thought it'd be a waste to leave it, so I decided to upload it and see how it goes :D. Anyway.. Chapter 1- Childhood_**

* * *

_Alfred lay back on the hospital bed, his sight blurry without his glasses, and the morphine was making his eyes feel heavy, and his head spin. He could feel his lungs inflate and deflate automatically, powered by the oxygen tube in his throat. What was that word Arthur had used?_  
_Artificially alive. _  
_ Around him he could hear voices- his parents, the doctors, his brother. He could only make out snippets of conversations._  
_".. We don't think he'll make the night."_  
_"Nothing we can do.."_  
_"Complete organ failure- he'll die the minute we take him out of ICU."_  
_ Alfred felt like crying. He didn't want to die- there was still so much he had to do. 13 years wasn't nearly long enough- it wasn't fair. He wanted to live!_  
_ He was vaguely aware that his mother was holding his hand._  
_"Baby, oh my baby boy." She cried. The sound became more distant, like she was shouting through a tunnel. He strained to hear her, struggled to grasp her voice, and stay awake. _  
_He faded out._  
_Darkness, absolute darkness. It was warm, almost stiflingly so, and Alfred couldn't see or feel anything, he just had a vague sense of being. He felt panic rise in his chest, fear itself seemed to grip his windpipe with it's cold, steely grasp._  
_"Am I dead?" He chocked out into the silence._  
_"Not yet. But you haven't got long left, by the looks of things." A familiar voice said. Alfred turned around to see Arthur emerging from the eternal darkness. For some reason he was visible. Like he was made out of light._  
_"Artie- dude. What're you doing here?" Alfred asked, although he had no idea where 'here' was. "I- I'm dying, I don't want to die!"_  
_"You don't have to." Arthur said, his voice cold and determined. _  
_"But the doctors were saying- "_  
_"It doesn't matter what the bloody doctors say, your going to wake-up and your going to live."_  
_"But how?"_  
_Alfred wanted it so much, he desperately wanted to believe that he'd be able to live again- to eat, and drink, and laugh and cry and love and hate. The fact he may not be able to do those things ever again terrified him._  
_"Just- don't look a gift horse in the mouth." Arthur replied sardonically. _  
_"What does that even mean?" Alfred asked frowning, Arthur shook his head and smiled sadly._  
_"You'll get a chance to look it up, once you wake up." The British boy said, suddenly he extended his hand. "It's been a pleasure knowing you, Alfred F. Jones. And giving my life for you would be my greatest honor."_  
_"-what do you?"_  
_"Do you want to live, Alfred?"_  
_The American stared at the older boy blankly for what seemed like eternity before grabbing his hand and shaking it. If Arthur said he was going to live, then why was this like a good bye?_  
_ Suddenly, the other boy was gone, and Alfred was left alone in the infinite, numbing darkness. _  
_It was still for a moment, then a flash of light and a blinding pain in his chest._  
_ Alfred forced open his eyes, and took in gulps of air feeling almost dizzy with relief. He was breathing un-aided for the first time in weeks. It was too bright to make anything out, but suddenly he could hear voices shouting all around him._  
_"He's alive!?"_  
_"-but we pulled the plug..!"_  
_"It's a miracle!" _

* * *

Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland first met in a hospital ward when Alfred was six, and Arthur was eight.  
Alfred was on the ward alone again, with nothing to do but watch TV, when Arthur was wheeled in. His blonde hair was a mess, and he had thick black eyebrows with the brightest green eyes that Alfred had ever seen.  
He had a broken leg, and burns, he was covered in bandages that made him look like a mummy to Alfred. It was in a hospital ward, which might seem odd, but it was were Alfred had spent most of his childhood.

The younger boy was sat on the floor, flicking through an old Superman comic book, when Arthur was wheeled in, he had bandages all over his limbs, and his leg was in a cast.  
"Alfred," Nurse Elizabeta said, he long brown hair tied up in a bun. "This is Arthur- he's going to be staying in the room with you. I'm sure the both of you will be good friends!"  
Arthur didn't look so happy about it. He just scowled, looking around the room in distaste.  
Alfred frowned right back at him.  
"Whys he staying here? I thought this was my own special room!" The american boy complained. As a long-term resident, he had his own room.  
"Well, the hospital is over-crowded, so you'll be sharing for a few weeks- okay?" Elizabeta smiled. "Try to get along, boys." She said, before leaving.  
"You look funny." Alfred said, after a moments silence- it was true though, not only was he covered in bandages, like a mummy, but his hair was all choppy and sticking out everywhere like he'd cut it himself, and even though he was blonde he had thick, black eyebrows.  
"Hmph! Well at least I'm not fat!" Arthur shot back. He had a funny accent, that Alfred recognised as some kind of English.  
"I am not fat! I'm just chubby!" Alfred yelled.  
"Whatever you say." Arthur sniffed, a cruel smirk on his face. "Just leave me alone. I don't talk to idiots."  
Alfred crossed his arms, and turned away. "Well I don't like talking to grumpy english dudes!"  
An awkward silence passed again, stretching out into excruciatingly long minuets, as both boys turned away, refusing to even look at the other.After a while, Alfred couldn't take it anymore- he hated not talking!  
"So. How did you break your leg, anyway?" He asked, without even thinking about it. Arthur looked at him suprised.  
"I- got into a fight with a dragon." The british boy said. Alfred's eyes widened.  
"Dragons! I didn't know they were real!?"  
"Yes. And they tend to get angry when you steal any of their treasure..."  
That was the first time Arthur ever told Alfred a story. It happened countless times after that, too. With his words alone, Arthur could transport Alfred away from his hospital room, to mystical worlds full of dragons, fairies and magic.  
By the time Alfred's parents came to visit him the next day, the two boys were inseparable.  
Arthur was in he hospital for a while, because of his broken leg and burns (from Dragon's breath, he'd assured Alfred,) but it felt like they had known each other for years.

Confined to the ward with only each other for company, Alfred and Arthur grew to be friends fast. Arthur learnt a lot about Alfred- he was six, he had some kind of long-tern illness, and he never, ever shut up.

Every other day, Alfred's parents would come to visit, his mum was a big women, with a constant smile, and was the type of person who seemed to think food solved everything.  
"You look awfully glum today, Arthur. How about a cake to cheer you up?"  
"Does your leg hurt? Maybe one of these brownie's would help!"  
Arthur would often lie awake at night and wish that she was his mum.  
Alfred's Dad didn't visit nearly as often, and when he did he always seemed in a hurry to leave, like the hospital was stifling.  
"I'm not sure if it's the hospital he doesn't like, or me." Alfred said once after he'd left.  
"Probably the hospital. I don't much care for this place either." Arthur had responded lamely. He wished he was good at comforting people.  
"I hate this place." Alfred admitted. "But it's sort of like home, you know!"

While Arthur quickly learned a lot about Alfred, the American hardly knew anything about his older friend.  
He'd met his mother a few times. At least he thought it was his mother. The dark haired lady would sit by his bedside for hours at end when Arthur was first admitted, but after a few days her visits became less frequent, and eventually she stopped coming all together.  
Then the only other people who'd visit Arthur were Police officers, who'd always wheel him to another room.  
"Why'd you always got the cops visiting you?" Alfred asked once over a game of monopoly.  
"Because I'm a hardened criminal who killed ten people." Arthur replied, his face displaying no emotion. Alfred backed away.  
"R-really!?" He gasped- Arthur didn't seem like a bad guy. The Brit actually laughed at that.  
"Haven't you ever heard of sarcasm, git?"  
"Momma says sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."  
"At least it is a form of wit." The older boy replied,smirking. He rolled the dice and moved the counter.  
"Aha! You landed on port sunlight, you have to pay me rent, you- dummy!" Alfred said, laughing. Arthur rolled his eyes. He had no idea that was the last time he'd hear Alfred laughing for a long while.  
That night, when the two boys were in bed, Arthur woke up to hear a horrible gasping sound.  
"Alfred!?" He called out into the night. He felt needles of agony shoot up him as he struggled to sit up.  
Alfred didn't reply, he just carried on choking on air, spluttering and writhing in the bed.  
Arthur winced, trying to ignore the pain as he forced himself into his chair, and rolled over to Alfred. By now, the American boy was shaking, his eyes wide and rolling back into his skull. Blood mixed with saliva trailed down his chin; Alfred had bitten his tongue.  
Trying desperately to ignore the pain, and damning his lack of mobility, Arthur wheeled himself out to the corridor and shouted at the top of his lungs.  
"Help!"  
It happened in an instant; It was just he and Alfred in the room, then suddenly they were surrounded by doctors and nurses, barging into the room and hurrying over to Alfred, all of them shouting frantically things he didn't understand.  
The nurses and doctors blocked Arthur's view of his twitching friend.  
Suddenly the American boy was being wheeled along by the hospital staff on a stretcher. Arthur tried to follow them down the corridor, but strong hands on the handles of his wheelchair stopped him..

"Let me go dammit- " Arthur hissed, turning around to see who the person who was hindering him was; It was a man of about 18, with spiky silver-white hair and blood red eyes. His outfit marked him as one of the hospital cleaning staff.  
"Sorry but ve can't have you un-awesomely crashing around in the operating theatre. 'Specially since you can't walk right now." The Albino said. He had a strong German accent.  
"Fuck you." Arthur huffed, leaning back into his chair, resigned. He aloud himself to be pushed.  
The Albino laughed. "Vere did a little kid like you learn such naughty language?" He teased. Arthur crossed his bandaged arms.  
"Were did a wanker like you learn to be so annoying!?" The Brit hissed.  
"Hey don't speak to me like that- don't think I'm above throwing a cripple kid down the stairs." The German said, menacingly. Arthur's eye's widened with fear, but the man just laughed and messed up his already disheveled hair. "Vhat you thought I was being serious?"  
Arthur said nothing, just scowled. The Albino wheeled his chair back over to the bed, and knelt down besides the boy.  
"Look, I know your worried about you're friend but zere's nothing you can do." He said.  
"I'm aware of that... Gilbert." Arthur said, reading his name tag. The boy wiped away newly forming tears in his eyes. He wasn't naive. He knew there was a chance Alfred could die.  
"Your not really like a normal kid, are you?" Gilbert mused. Arthur winced inwardly- that was what his mother always said. "My little bruder, he's an odd one too, always so stoic and stuff."  
"I don't care about your stupid life story." Arthur said, trying to appear as cold as possible. "Now leave me be."  
"Fine- I don't want to waste my awesome time with little brats anyway." Gilbert said, but his grin was still plastered on his face. He walked away, leaving Arthur alone to struggle back into bed, too proud to call a nurse for help.

The next day, Arthur spent the entire morning circling around the room in his chair. He kept thinking of Alfred, dead hidden under a blanket with only his tiny pink toes sticking out. He imagined him at a funeral- like the one for his little brother, Peter- stuffed in a tiny coffin and his hair gelled into an unnaturally perfect style, his face ashen and lifeless, so hard to believe he was ever actually a living thing-  
Arthur mentally slapped himself. He couldn't afford to think like that. But every time he saw the still unfinished game of monopoly his heart clenched.  
All the nurses who came in to give him his breakfast and redress his wounds couldn't tell him anything. It was infuriating!  
It was 13:45 when Gilbert sauntered in, carrying a mop and bucket. "You look terrible, kid." The German said. It occurred to Arthur that he was the only person who didn't patronise him and treat him like a fragile piece of glass.  
"You are terrible." Arthur retorted grumpily.  
"Oh. Burn." Gilbert said sarcastically, mopping the floor hap-hazardly.  
"Do you know anything about Alfred, is he- " Arthur trailed of, unsure of how to finish the sentence.  
"How would I know? I'm just the cleaner." The albino replied, surveying the room. "But they haven't cleaned out his stuff yet, so I guess he must still be alive."  
Arthur felt relief rush through him, and he almost thanked Gilbert. Almost.  
"So, broken leg, lacerations, how'd you end up in hospital, eyebrows?" Gilbert asked his red eyes gleaming with mischief. Arthur scowled at the nickname.  
"If you must know, I fell down the stairs, and smashed into a vase." Arthur said locking eyes with Gilbert.

"Fell down the stairs into a vase, huh." Gilbert asked, raising his eyebrow and not attempting to hide his skepticism. Before the blonde could respond to him, Gilbert was out the door into the corridor.

It wasn't until the next day that Arthur got any solid news on Alfred.  
Mr and Mrs Jones came into the room, the latter enveloping Arthur in a tight, painful hug. For not the first time the British boy felt a pang of longing for a mother like that.  
"We heard what you did- " She choked out. "Calling for help like that was very brave of you- it's touch and go at the moment but- Alfred should be okay."  
Arthur forced a smile "He better get well soon because we haven't finished our game of monopoly."  
Mrs Jones hugged him again, and Arthur caught the look of hopelessness in her eyes. Maybe it was because she knew all the cookies and cakes in the world couldn't help her son now. There were some things food couldn't solve.  
After collecting Alfred's lucky cape, and giving Arthur a plate full of brownies, the Jones' left the room, leaving behind their 7 year old son Matthew. ("Will you be a dear and mind him for us? He's too little for the ICU ward")  
Matthew sat in the corner, muttering in french to his white teddy bear. The boy couldn't be more different from his loud-mouth older brother, Alfred. Pretty soon Arthur forgot he was there, preoccupied with his own thoughts and worries.  
"Alfred back already?" Gilbert asked as he walked in, mop in hand. He nodded over at Matthew.  
"I- I'm Alfred's brother." Matthew said, weakly. But the two did look similar- both had the same dirty blonde hair, over-sized glasses and big eyes (albeit Matthew had indigo eyes while Alfred's were sky blue.)  
"You sure your not Alfred- because you look identical!" Gilbert said, leaning closer to inspect Matthews face. The little blonde boy whimpered and ducked down behind his teddy bear.  
"That's probably because they're brothers, stupid German." Arthur said, rolling his eyes. Gilbert stood up to his full hight, looking genuinely pissed.  
"I'm not German, I'm Prussian." The Albino said proudly. Matthew and Arthur stared at him blankly.  
"That country doesn't even exist anymore!" Arthur argued. He was quite history-savvy for an 8 year old. Gilbert's expression darkened, and he looked genuinely livid. He opened his mouth as if to yell. Closed it. Then muttered something in German, stalking out the room. Once again, the eight year old was struck by how different Gilbert was from other adults. He felt an unexplainable knot of anxiety in his stomach, but pushed it away, he picked up his Harry Potter book from his bed-side table and got lost within the story.  
A few hours later, Arthur finished the story, he looked up and nearly jumped out of his skin.  
A pale boy with chin-length curly blonde hair, and round glasses sat on the end of his bed, staring at him.  
"W-who the bloody hell are you!?" The Brit gasped. The boy frowned.  
"I'm Matthew.. Remember." He said, quietly- Arthur blinked again before the memory clicked.  
"Alfred's brother?" He replied. He'd completely forgotten about him. "Why're you still here? Visiting hours ended hours ago!?"  
Matthew looked down. "I guess my Parents forgot about me, eh?"  
"Oh." Arthur said, unsure of what to say. He felt a sudden rush of sympathy for Matthew.  
"Its okay I understand- they're busy with Al, he needs them more." The Canadian boy said, he spoke as of he was reciting words he'd been told again and again.  
"Still- leaving you here is... "  
"Its okay, I'm used to it." Matthew said, before looking back down at his hands again silently. He had a pensive expression that was beyond his years. "I can see why Al doesn't like it here."

Arthur nodded in reply "I'll call the nurse.. she'll get your parents for you." He said, attempting a reassuring smile that fell flat.

* * *

The next day was the first time Arthur got to see Alfred in what seemed like forever. He was wheeled into the ICU unit alongside Alfred's parents (who'd left Matthew with a relative at home this time so he wouldn't be forgotten). The Brit gasped when he saw him- Alfred lying so still on the bed he may as well be dead. Wires and tubes snaked in and out of his body like chains. It didn't look like Alfred- non of Alfred's zest for life resided in this corpse-like figure.

"H- hi Alfred." Arthur rasped out, drumming his hand on his chair. Alfred didn't respond. His mother took the chair by his bedside, and sqeuuzed her son's hand in her own. "It's okay, sweetie, Mommy's here. You're going to be okay now."

Alfred's Dad bit his lip, looking conflicted. "Why do we have to do this to him? we're just prolonging his misery! even if we keep him alive now, we know what's going to happen. He's not going to make it past twenty. Alfred will never get better. He's going to die it's just a matter of when!" He suddenly burst out, his eyes filled with tears. Arthur looked up at him, shocked. Alfred couldn't get better? Alfred was going to die? No. He couldn't let that happen. No way.

* * *

**_(sorry if the ending is a little rushed please review for more!)_**


End file.
